Harry Potter and the Steward of Darkness
by rohnskituen
Summary: Post Ottp. Wizarding World War as morbid as disturbing as the real thing. (Might need to change my rating to 17 only) A stronger, more evil and cunning Voldermort. Time Turner, plus all existing relationship will be revaluated. Until Post Hogwarts!


Chapter 1: To be or what not to be  
  
Thick drops of rain fell on the Dursley's roof as a boy about to turn sweet 16 felt anything but sweet gazed into the chaotic evening sky. Water sprawled across his window, not that it matter for he cared not if a storm was apparent, for inside him the greatest storm grew to hurricane proportions. Ravaged by guilt often followed by loath, Harry Potter "the boy who lived" felt like killing. Who most? A hypothetical question, Umbridge or Voldermort? Just above his head an unlit light baked bulb shone as it refracted light from the lighting outside. He wanted to unleash his wrath not necessarily at them, but at anyone. Harry thought twice about this, feeling guilty all of the sudden. "Well probably not just anyone, but rather anyone deserving," Harry thought to himself as he motioned to sit on his bed.  
  
Sounds of glass being pecked caught his attention, slowly he stood to open to make way for his wet furry friend. The envelope opened to reveal a letter from the Headmaster. A failure amongst many things and people, Dumbledore failed him once again, costing the life of his Godfather. "Not his fault," a soft voice inside him said. "Couldn't be helped," it continued, further increasing the feeling of hopelessness inside him. Ironical that the Greatest Wizard of his time wasn't great enough yet again. "Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the greatest wizard of them all?" a thought coming out of nowhere. Just as he started pondering the significance if any of this, he realized what he once knew as a fact that Dumbledore was, was now more of a belief, a belief of a person losing faith.  
  
An apology, lengthy at that, was what the letter was intended for. The compensation was a promise that from now on all that he wished for would be granted without condition. The implications soon caught up as the list of possibilities grew exponentially. "Know everything the member's of the Order know?" Excitement growing. "Unrestricted access to all the spells?" Growing. Unconsciously perspiring as his body temperature increased as Harry shifted sitting positions, crossing his legs. Everything else was a stream of motion pictures of things that could now be possible, most of the same things but this time without adult supervision. Just as his excitement reached it's peak, a PANG of sudden realization hit him. Everything halted to a screeching stop. "I have no idea what to do?" This brought down the mental house built with hope. A moment of silence, a very long one at that. Finally after an hour or so, Harry got a quill and wrote;  
  
Dear Headmaster  
  
Apology accepted. As for the promise, I accept. All though as for the moment, I have nothing to ask for but your guidance. I wish to have the most hectic of schedule this summer. I hope you trust me enough to not limit me. I invoke your promise and wish for you to treat me as a machine, a killing machine that you must train. I leave to you to sort out what I need to learn, for I know not the best. Lastly, please provide me with a time turner, the same one that you provided Hermione. But I want mine to allow me to have ten times more time. Along with this, please supply me with the best strength replenishing potion Hogwarths has to offer. Thank you.  
  
Best Wishes, Harry  
  
--Next Scene--  
  
Harry walked up startled by the sound of looming thunder. His heart raced as his consciousness restarted. Another day for our Hero, flashes of those that left him already quickly followed by those that might be leaving. No one was safe, he himself who have always been in constant danger but had always managed to live through death literally, was still not safe. Far from it, in fact his knowledge of just how dangerous his fate is just ballooned after Dumbledore's revelation of the prophecy. Harry felt tired, old beyond his age. His seen enough death to last a life time, felt enough pressure to last even after death. Harry haven't had fun for a long time, his notion of it seemed to be slipping away as time passed. The sadness of loosing his Godfather along with horror of the Prophecy diminished his craving for such pleasures. On one hand he felt guilty for being "partially" responsible for the death of Sirius, on the other the heavy toll of obligation he felt towards the prophecy. "Kill or be killed," simply put Harry thought. With a rocking motion he got up and summoned Hedwig. A brief letter he sent to the Headmaster requesting for his immediate attention. After the task was another, trivial in comparison to the former as the latter being to wash his face and brush his teeth. He felt somewhat better as though being cleansed of the filth of his life. Breakfast was served and he ate without passion, out of necessity and nothing else.  
  
It has always been said that the eyes has always been the window to one's soul, apparently holding true as Harry noticed the eyes of his beloved Master twinkle in sorrow. A person in mourning would seem almost cheerful in comparison, his long white hair looking the part of a tired horse. Their eyes met and their bodies found their way into a prolonged hug. Not a moment too early they separated, still keeping the silence just like those made for those remembered.  
  
"May I ask you something?" It was Harry who finally broke the silence.  
  
"Anything," Dumbledore replied sounding full of grief.  
  
"Tell me everything you know about the War and Voldermort, the past, the present and what may be," Harry requested in a manner that reminded Albus of his promise.  
  
This may have taken the great old wizard by surprise, but if it did nothing had showed. Slow to reply, uncertain where to start the Headmaster started to relay his past experience of his own Dark Lord, Grindewald. 


End file.
